


You Will Keep Me Safe

by haggarrrd



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Hospital, M/M, Motherly Enjolras, Sickness, Worry, ill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-12 10:22:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haggarrrd/pseuds/haggarrrd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is seriously ill and Enjolras worries, despite the other man's attempts to brush it off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'll sleep in your embrace at last

That day Grantaire had been coughing a lot; Enjolras couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when the coughing started—probably a couple of days ago, but nowhere near that bad—and it was just getting worse as the hours passed. Enjolras was starting to get worried.

He definitely wasn’t worried because Grantaire was coughing; no, of course not—he was worried because the coughs sounded harsh and gurgled like he was drowning underwater. He was worried because Grantaire went pale whenever he coughed, and it took a minute for him to regain his breath every time it happened, but by the time, a new coughing fit had started and the cycle began all over again. And to top it all off, Grantaire wasn’t even acting like it was a problem, which drove Enjolras crazy because the cynic looked like he was about ready to keel over at any given minute. 

“Grantaire,” Enjolras hedged, looking down at the dainty man that was perched on his chest, then looking at the man’s hand, which was clutched tightly into the fabric of his t-shirt. 

Grantaire didn’t reply straight away, but when he did his voice was raspy and thin, even though he tried to chuckle to hide that fact. He peeked up at Enjolras with bright blue eyes and said, “I’m fine, Enjolras. Stop worrying. It’s just a cough. I’m not going to drop dead because of a cough.”

“At least let me call Combeferre and ask him if it’s okay,” Enjolras attempted, and his worry had only increased because Grantaire’s eyes clenched shut tightly, and he broke out in another fit of coughs. Enjolras tightened the grip he had around Grantaire until the man stopped coughing, and he tried his best to ignore the wet sound behind the coughs and considered calling Combeferre for his advice no matter what Grantaire said. Combeferre, the best medic student in his class, would at least be able to tell him if the cough was run of the mill or if it was something he should send the man to the hospital for. When Grantaire stopped coughing and his colour returned a little, Enjolras tried again, “you know, we should at least go get it checked out. It’s probably nothing but we should make sure just to be on the safe sound.”

“It’s nothing,” Grantaire repeated for about the tenth time that night, his voice growing a little more impatient now; Enjolras could tell that if he kept pushing it, Grantaire would just get annoyed and end up going to bed early. He trained his eyes back onto the movie that they’re supposed to be watching, but Grantaire had interrupted half of it with his coughing, and Enjolras had interrupted the other half with his worrying. 

Enjolras took the hint though, and his worry even dwindled slightly when Grantaire’s coughing subsided for a short while. The blond even wrote it off as a smoker’s cough, or some cold that he picked up on one of his late night binge drinking sessions out in the cold night’s air. They watched the rest of the movie in silence, partly because Grantaire was still a little annoyed at him for being so persistent no matter how many times he told him that it was nothing, and Enjolras was simply content to watch the images on the screen without a running commentary. 

When the movie ended, Grantaire excused himself, looking a little rough around the edges; he was pale, and the circles around his eyes looked darker than they had done this morning. His hair looked dishevelled, even more so than usual, and his eyes looked tired and a little bloodshot; by all means, he looked terribly ill, and Enjolras regretted dropping the subject so easily because he really would have valued Combeferre’s opinion at a time like that. Grantaire smiled weakly at him, and shuffled into the kitchen to grab a glass of water, and it was then that Enjolras realised that his boyfriend hadn’t even touched a drop of alcohol all day; as good a sign as any that he’s not feeling at all like himself.

Grantaire emerged from the kitchen only a few moments later, glass of water in hand, and headed towards the bathroom rather than returning to the couch as Enjolras had expected that he would. The cynic shot a weak goodbye over his shoulder, but Enjolras stood up immediately and followed him, feeling much like a mother watching protectively over a new born child.

When Enjolras reached the bedroom, Grantaire was already curled up beneath the sheets, looking like little more than a small lump with a shock of black curls peeking out. Enjolras considered walking back out of the room so that he could secretly hide away and call Combeferre to ask him to come over. Considering the fact that it was only nine thirty (a fact that made Enjolras increasingly worried) he doubted that his best friend would be asleep. But if he left the room to call Combeferre, that would mean leaving Grantaire on his own, and he was cared that something might happen if he took his eyes off of the man’s sleeping figure. Instead, he peeled his jeans off and tossed his shirt into the corner, slipping into a pair of sweat pants, then crawled under the covers and wrapped himself around the sick man, his hand coming to rest on Grantaire’s chest so that he could feel the man’s breathing. 

“You don’t have to come to bed yet,” Grantaire croaked in a quiet voice, although he did sink back into Enjolras’ chest. “You have work to do.”

Enjolras squeezed Grantaire’s hip in return, “I’m tired too.”

Grantaire didn’t argue; he just closed his eyes and fell asleep within minutes, but Enjolras struggled to do the same. For a start, it was far too early for him to be tired, but he was mostly just worried; Grantaire didn’t often get sick—Enjolras could only recall two other occasions—but when he did, he refused help because he hated the attention that came along with it; a fact that annoyed Enjolras to no end because he really couldn’t help but worry at the state that Grantaire was in. The blond gives up attempting to sleep after a while, and instead settled for listening to the sound of Grantaire’s breathing, ignoring the way that it sounded a little laboured. 

When he was sure that Grantaire was fast asleep (although it didn’t really matter because the man slept like the dead, especially when he’s ill) he twists, making sure that his hand remained on Grantaire’s chest, and he plucked his phone from the bedside cabinet. He found Combeferre’s contact information and tapped out a quick message.

To Combeferre: R’s sick, I’m worried he needs to go to the hospital.

Combeferre’s text was almost instant; the quiet ping of an incoming message rattling around the otherwise silent room, and Grantaire stirred slightly at the sound but didn’t wake.

To Enjolras: Symptoms? I’m sure he’s fine though, you worry over nothing sometimes!  
To Combeferre: Lots of coughing, it’s kinda wet sounding, breathlessness after coughing. He’s pale and a little hot, and his breathing’s shallow and it sounds like it’s rattling.

Combeferre’s text took longer to come through the second time, and Enjolras worried increasingly as the seconds strolled by that his best friend was just thinking of a polite way to say that Grantaire should have gone to the hospital hours ago.

To Enjolras: Just keep an eye on him. If he’s no better in the morning, take him to the doctors and they should be able to prescribe something.

Enjolras sent a quick thank you text to his best friend, but it did little to lessen his nerves. He closed his eyes and tried to wipe his mind clean, and eventually he fell asleep as he focused on the sound of Grantaire’s rusty breathing. He dreamed of the time that Courfeyrac’s parents took the two of them to their boathouse when they were children; he dreamed of the trip they’d taken on the motorboat across the lake, and the way the engine had cut out, only the sound of the engine spluttering was replaced by the sound of Grantaire’s coughing, although it did take him a while to figure out what’s happening through the thick haze of sleep that had cloaked his mind.

He woke fully to find the other half of his bed completely empty, although he was sure that Grantaire’s warm frame had been pressed against his front only moments before. He rolled over, heard Grantaire in the bathroom that was attached to their bedroom and padded over instantly, a slight rush in his step. He found Grantaire hunched over the sink, coughing as if his life depended on it, and wheezing occasionally in between; the blond rushed over to him and placed his hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder. He almost recoiled the limb when he felt the temperature of Grantaire’s skin. The cynic shrugged him off and covered his mouth with his hand as he continued coughing, his face getting redder and redder. 

“Grantaire, please let me take you to the hospital, you’re really not well.” Enjolras plead in a high pitched voice that was bordering on whiney, the one that was the product of stress and worry combined. Grantaire wheezed and collapsed against him; it had almost winded the blond but he managed to catch the man, who isn’t coughing anymore but is wheezing violently, his eyes wide and terrified. Enjolras wanted to rip his hair out as tears sprung to his eyes but didn’t escape, because Grantaire couldn’t even breathe and he wasn’t doing anything to help him. 

Enjolras pulled Grantaire into the bedroom and grabbed his car keys, snatching up a hoody for Grantaire as he passed the coatrack. The cynic continued to wheeze as Enjolras practically carried him downstairs and planted him in the passenger seat.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras’ voice was terrified and not at all like his own as he reached across to rattle the other man’s shoulder slightly, “R, stay awake for me. You can’t go to sleep until we get to the hospital, okay?”

Enjolras spared a sideways glance to the cynic as he pulled away from the curb and began speeding down the street; Grantaire wasn’t wheezing anymore but his breathing had turned so weak and shallow that Enjolras was terrified it had stopped all together. The cynic did nodded lightly, but Enjolras wished he would just keep his eyes open.

“I hate you,” Enjolras choked out as he drove too fast across town towards the hospital, trying to keep his eyes on Grantaire as much as he could. He took a deep, steadying breath as he looked back towards the road, “I hate you for not letting me take you to the hospital earlier. I knew that I should have at least called Combeferre over to take a look at you but I was so stupid and I didn’t. Open your eyes and stay awake!” 

It took all too long to get to the hospital, and by the time they got there Grantaire was barely conscious, his head lolling against Enjolras’ shoulder as he pulled the man from the car. He was barely even breathing, which made Enjolras run through the automatic doors of A&E, his chin quivering violently with fear. He ran to the front desk, and then before he knew it doctors were taking Grantaire away, and forms were being shoved into his hands and he didn’t know how to fill them out because his eyes were swarmed with tears. So he did the only thing he could think to do; he forego the fact that it was three in the morning, and pulled out his phone to call Combeferre.

“Enjolras?” Combeferre picked up after the third ring, concern thick in his voice. “Is everything alright?”

It’s then that Enjolras started to cry, even though he never cried, and he said, “It’s Grantaire. We’re at the Emergency Room.”

“I’m on my way,” was at that Combeferre said before he hung up, and Enjolras knew that he didn’t have to deal with paperwork; Combeferre would deal with all of that.


	2. I'll think of you until the day I die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire hates to admit that he's sick.

Had Grantaire cared even a shred for his own health, he probably would have been more concerned with the cough that he had noticed had been building up over the past week. At first it had been a tickle, and he had assumed that it was little more than a smoker’s cough, because he certainly did smoke far too much. He thought that it would pass after a couple of days, but he bought a bottle of cough syrup just in case, in the hopes that it would clear it up before Enjolras noticed and began to worry. 

Much to his disfortune, the cough prevailed despite the cough medicine he was religiously taking. In fact, it not only prevailed but worsened as the days passed, to the point where it was bordering on painful but he presumed that if he ignored it, it would disappear on its own; there was no need to seek Combeferre’s advice or worry Enjolras over nothing. 

By the time he realised that he probably should worry, it was a little too late. He curled up with Enjolras on the couch, feeling a little sorry for himself because he ached all over and he was cold but sweating at the same time; he felt too ill to even go and get himself a drink as he usually would. So he twisted himself around the taller blond man, his head on his boyfriend’s chest, and hoped that Enjolras wasn’t worrying about the way he coughed every ten minutes or so, and struggled to regain his breath after he coughed. He decided to act like it wasn’t a problem at all, because then he hoped that maybe it wouldn’t be, or maybe Enjolras would believe that it wasn’t. 

“Grantaire,” Enjolras hedged, and Grantaire could feel the man’s dark eyes looking at the top of his head, but he refused to look up and meet his eyes; he was too tired to lift his head and look up and his chest felt tight and clogged. 

Grantaire didn’t respond to Enjolras straight away, but when he did he attempted to make his voice steady and light. He peeked up at Enjolras with bright blue eyes and said (in a not-so steady voice, but rather a raspy and thin voice), “I’m fine, Enjolras. Stop worrying. It’s just a cough, I’m not going to drop dead because of a cough.”

“At least let me call Combeferre and ask him if it’s okay.” Enjolras argued, but Grantaire was too busy breaking out in another round of coughs to think of a proper retaliation. He clenched his eyes shut tightly, and internally cringed at the wet sound that was emitting from his mouth each time he coughed. He wouldn’t bother Combeferre over nothing, especially not when he knew that he was on a date with Eponine. It took a moment for his breath to return to him after he stopped coughing, but when that happened, Enjolras carried on trying to bargain with him, “you know, we should at least go get it checked out. It’s probably nothing, you’re right, but we should go make sure just to be on the safe side. There's no harm in getting it checked out, we could go down to A&E now, we'd probably be back in an hour...”

“It’s nothing,” Grantaire repeated for about the tenth time that night, his voice a little more stern, and he knew that his voice was growing a little more impatient. In the back of his mind, he was fawning over the fact that Enjolras was so concerned over him, but that voice was overpowered by the illness he felt running through his system. He ignored the illness as much as he could, and ignored Enjolras’ concern and focused his eyes back onto the movie that Enjolras had chosen, even though he didn’t really know what was going on. He had interrupted the majority of it by coughing, and Enjolras had interrupted the other half with his worry. 

They stayed in silence for the rest of the movie, and Grantaire was thrilled because his cough seemed to have subsided for the times being. When the credits at the end of the movie showed on the screen, the cynic excused himself, feeling a little rougher around the edges than he had done when the movie began. He smiled weakly at Enjolras as he stood up, attempting to quell his worry a little, then shuffled away into the small kitchen to get a glass of water in hopes that it would soothe the burning in his throat. 

“Goodnight,” He called as he walked out of the kitchen, his voice incredibly weak and tired, and then headed towards the bedroom, his glass of water in hand, rather than returning to the couch where Enjolras was waiting. 

Grantaire climbed beneath the covers on his side of the bed as soon as he entered the room, too tired to stand up for any longer. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then coughed at the sudden rush of cold air to his warm, irritated throat. He curled in on himself a little tighter, hugging his torso. He hoped and prayed that when he woke up in the morning he would feel better, or else he wasn’t sure that he’d even be able to get up out of bed. A few moments later, Grantaire felt the pressure of weight on the other side of the bed, and a warm arm wrapped around his midsection, a hand coming to rest upon his chest. 

“You don’t have to come to bed yet,” Grantaire croaked in a quiet voice, although he did sink back into Enjolras’ chest. “You have work to do.”

Enjolras squeezed Grantaire’s hip in return, “I’m tired too.”

On any normal night, Grantaire would have argued, but he felt too tired to do so now, his body in far too much pain. He closed his eyes, clutching the blanket up around his chin in attempts to warm up, and then he was asleep within a few minutes. Grantaire didn’t often get sick, but when he did, it took everything out of him. 

Grantaire woke again around three in the morning, according to the red digits on the clock beside his bed. Beside him, Enjolras slept soundly, snoring quietly; his arm was still wrapped around Grantaire’s midsection, his clammy hand pressed against his chest. The light pressure made Grantaire feel as though he was suffocating, struggling to breathe as he was. Carefully, he abstracted himself from Enjolras’ grasp, and padded towards the bathroom. 

By this point, Grantaire acknowledged that he probably should have accepted help from Enjolras earlier. He could barely breath, and even he could hear himself wheezing; his head was spinning and he felt as though he was on death’s door. By all means, he knew that he should go and wake Enjolras and ask him to take him to the ER, because he felt as though he was going to pass out any second but he didn’t think that he had it in him to let go of the sink and trust his own legs.

He started coughing again, the sound thick and wet, and twice as painful as it had been before he went to sleep. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the skin tightly to keep himself on his feet. Every so often, he wheezed in between coughs as he attempted, however uselessly, to pull air back into his burning lungs. A hand fell upon his shoulder, and he looked up in the mirror to see Enjolras standing behind him, a look of terror on his face; Grantaire shook his hand off and covered his mouth as he carried on coughing. In the mirror he could see his face getting redder and redder, and his chest became tighter and tighter. 

“Grantaire, please let me take you to the hospital, you’re really not well.” Enjolras plead in a high pitched voice that was bordering on whiney, the one that was the product of stress and worry combined. Grantaire wheezed and collapsed against him, no longer able to keep himself upright; he heard Enjolras ooft at the sudden burst of weight, but he managed to catch the sick man, who wasn’t coughing at all anymore but rather was wheezing violently, his blue eyes wide and terrified.

Enjolras dragged him out into the bedroom, and Grantaire fisted his hand in Enjolras’ t-shirt as he mentally cursed himself. He was going to die because he couldn’t breathe and it was all his fault. If he had just let Enjolras take him to the emergency room while they still had time, he probably wouldn’t have been in such a state. Enjolras practically carried the cynic down the stairs and planted him in the passenger seat of their car. 

“Grantaire,” Enjolras’ voice was terrified and not at all like his own as he reached across to rattle the other man’s shoulder slightly. Grantaire wanted to tell Enjolras not to worry so much, but he couldn’t find the breath or the words. “R, stay awake for me. You can’t go to sleep until we get to the hospital, okay?”

Grantaire nodded, although he was so weak he doubted he managed to do much. He closed his eyes as Enjolras drove much too quickly down the street towards the hospital. 

“I hate you,” he heard Enjolras choke out, and he wanted to apologise. “I hate you for not letting me take you to the hospital earlier. I knew that I should have at least called Combeferre over to take a look at you but I was so stupid and I didn’t. Open your eyes and stay awake!” 

Grantaire tried, but he was too tired and his chest hurt too much for him to oblige. 

+++++

Enjolras sat in the waiting room on his own for longer than he should have before he finally caved in and called for Combeferre to come down and provide some emotional support. The longer he spent on his own, the more his mind tried to sabotage him by telling him that he should have done something sooner; if anything happened to Grantaire, he was sure that he would never let himself get over it. He would blame himself to no end because he had seen that something was wrong, but he hadn’t put his foot down.

By the time Combeferre finally managed to get to the hospital, Enjolras was shaking. His dark brown eyes were red rimmed and a little poofy from all the crying that he’d been doing, even though it had long since subsided. His nose, too, was a little stuffy, and the tip was shiny and red, the way it always turned whenever he cried. He was wearing the hoodie that he’d grabbed for Grantaire, the sleeves gathered together in his palms as he worried at his lower lip. Combeferre sank down into the chair next to Enjolras instantly, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders in attempts to be supportive. 

Enjolras leaned against him and rubbed his eye with the sleeve of Grantaire’s jacket, in a weak voice whispering, “He told me it was just a cough and that I shouldn’t worry. He said he’d be fine, why did I listen to him? What if something happens to him?”

“You weren’t to know,” Combeferre reassured, doing his best to keep the undertone of worry out of his voice for fear of making Enjolras feel even worse than he already did. He raked his hands through Enjolras’ honey coloured curls and took a deep breath, “he’s in the best possible hands, Enjolras. He’ll be okay, I know he will.” 

Enjolras shook his head in response; as much as he valued Combeferre’s opinion, he hadn’t been there to see the state that Grantaire had been in. He hadn’t heard the way that his breath rattled within his chest. Enjolras shivered at the memory. As soon as he was given the option to see Grantaire, he knew that he wouldn’t be taking his eyes off of the other man for a long time (he was sure that Grantaire wouldn’t object to that either, as fond as he was of having Enjolras’ full attention.) 

Too frantic to sit still in silence, and too unsure of what he could say to Combeferre, Enjolras decided to pull his phone out and call his friends in turn to tell them what had happened, despite the fact that it was 3.56am, and all of his friends would either be drunk or asleep. He called Jehan first, since he was Grantaire’s best friend and would probably never forgive the blond if he was the last to find out. Although Enjolras didn’t really want him to, Jehan promised that he’d be there within the hour. Despite the fact that they were probably together, Enjolras called Courfeyrac next, and relayed the same message that he had passed on to Jehan. By the time he got around to calling Marius, Enjolras began to pace in front of the row of chairs he had been sat on to busy his body as well as his mind. 

He couldn’t get through to Bahorel, although that was hardly a surprise considering the man almost constantly allowed his phone to lose charge; Feuilly assured Enjolras that he would tell Bahorel, and asked if he needed anything. He declined the offer; if his friends attempted to comfort him anymore than Combeferre had, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to hold in the tears, and he didn’t want his friends to see him cry. Joly passed on worried messages of wellbeing, and handed the phone over to Bossuet when he was done talking so that Enjolras could fill him in too. 

“Enjolras,” the blond turned around at the sound of his name and slid his phone back into his poet. Somewhere along the line, Jehan had appeared and was sat in the chair next to Combeferre, still in his pyjamas and his hair messy and unkempt. The bespectacled medical student gestured to a doctor, who was approaching the three of them; Enjolras rushed to give him his full attention.

The doctor made quick work of telling the trio just what was wrong with Grantaire, and doesn’t really linger afterwards to answer the multitude of questions that Enjolras had. He stated the basic facts; Grantaire had pneumonia, a rather nasty case if the doctor was to be believed. One of his lungs had collapsed and filled with fluid. He had to spend at least two weeks in hospital to make sure that he recovered properly, although it could take longer. 

Luckily, Combeferre could answer most of the questions that were thrown his way. (‘The fluid in his lungs explains why it sounded like he was drowning when he breathed.’ ‘No, he probably won’t be awake much for the next couple of days. Why? Because his body needs rest.’ ‘Yes there’s a possibility he’ll be on ventilation, he probably can’t breathe on his own well enough yet.’) Enjolras was glad that he had Combeferre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title has nothing to do with the chapter, I just couldn't think of one!

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to take a break from writing my other story so I started this, which is only going to be a couple of parts. I don't really think it has much point to it, but it's something to write at least.
> 
> Feedback would be loved, please! Let me know what you're all thinking.


End file.
